


Until the Day I Die

by Cookie



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 13:31:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4668422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cookie/pseuds/Cookie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur believed Dragoon had killed his father, and so he plunged his sword deep into the sorcerer.  Now Merlin was dying in his arms and Arthur was facing the future alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until the Day I Die

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Italiano available: [Until The Day I Day (by Cookie)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5278307) by [silvia93](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvia93/pseuds/silvia93)



> Huge thanks to my lovely artist FreyaFenris for lots of patience and beautiful art. As soon as I saw the prompt, I wanted to write for it. And FreyaFenris even got me started by writing most of the first scene! 
> 
> Thanks to winterstorrm for the beta.

Arthur charges at Dragoon, his sword raised and ready to strike. He doesn’t think, he’s still in shock and his mind is finding it almost impossible to accept what he’s just witnessed. His body acts of its own volition as years of training and instinct kick in. Dragoon raises his hand as if to attack, but hesitates at the same time as Arthur freezes, feeling the air thicken as the power gathers. The intent seems clear but then nothing happens. He is not thrown back, and he retains his grip on his sword.

He sees the shock in Dragoon’s blue eyes; he is as surprised as Arthur is. Maybe even more so, because it was his magic that has failed him and it will cost him his life, something that, in a brief shared instant, they both recognise. Arthur doesn’t wait for Dragoon to try again, to eradicate the whole Pendragon line in one fateful night. He comes quick, skilled, and efficient - and he strikes Dragoon down where he stands.

A golden glow suffuses the room though Arthur can’t identify the source, but it… it feels like emotion, like shock and hurt and being terrified, though there is no ill intent within it. If anything, it’s warm and caring and it makes something in his heart shatter.

 

 

Arthur growls and moves away; away from what is surely more tricks and deception. He withdraws the blade from Dragoon and watches as the bones give way and the glow disappears. Now that the light is gone, the blood staining the long red robe turns it black. Dragoon brings his hand to his midsection and it comes away wet, he stares at it as if not understanding what he sees and then he looks back at Arthur standing just a step away with his sword still poised and ready. His lips part as if he wants to say something, but then he stumbles and falls as his life-blood deserts him. But he still holds Arthur’s gaze, and Arthur stares back into familiar blue eyes, the sense of familiarity so much of what made him trust Dragoon in the first place.

Maybe it’s because his senses are still overly heightened by the fire of battle, maybe it’s because he still doesn’t truly understand what has happened, but it’s only then Arthur notices how the wrinkles have receded, making the sorcerer’s face smooth again, how his hair has darkened and is getting shorter by the second, how the beard has disappeared. It’s just a second, a blink of an eye, and in the place of a conquered enemy he sees his friend.  
It has to be another piece of trickery, an illusion created to deceive him and make him compliant. Make him help his enemy, the man who killed-

If it is a trick, it works.

Arthur lets his sword fall and drops to Merlin’s side, his friend’s name already forming on his lips, but dying before he has a chance to speak it. He drags the limp body into his arms, and looks at him and sees how Merlin appears so surprised, so trusting and confused. He tries to say something, but no sound manages to leave his lips, but the attempt brings a thin stream of blood running from his lips down his chin, to finally drip onto the fabric and disappear, absorbed by the robe and staining it further.

“No,” Arthur says and he places his hands on the gaping wound, even though he knows it’s hopeless. “No,” he repeats and applies more pressure. Merlin groans, but doesn’t attempt to shift away, clearly lacking the strength. “No!” Arthur shouts. “Guards, someone, help.” It was Arthur who’d sent everyone away, however, and so his cries go unheeded and the corridor outside the room remains silent.

He feels something wet on his cheek and looks down to see Merlin smiling weakly at him, his eyes pleading for something. The fingers that stained his cheek with red-hot blood are slipping away and the blue eyes are becoming unfocused.

“Merlin,” Arthur whispers, his voice cracking. Merlin’s eyelids flicker and his eyes open at Arthur’s voice, but it’s all wrong, his irises are the colour of liquid gold, glowing brighter and brighter until fading away, leaving Arthur wondering if he’d imagined the whole thing. With a final sigh, Merlin’s eyes close and his chest stills.

Arthur sits there until finally Gaius enters hours later, to find Arthur with the cold body of his servant in his arms and even colder body of his father by his side.

**

It didn’t seem to matter what Arthur did, he couldn’t get warm. He pulled his cloak around him and glanced around. Gaius was some distance away, but even so, Arthur could feel the accusation and pain like a physical force and knew this grief and guilt had created a seemingly unbridgeable abyss between them. Gwen was huddled against Gaius’ side and he couldn’t even bring himself to acknowledge the worried looks she flashed between them. It was clear to anyone with half a brain that something had gone badly wrong between Camelot’s King and the Court Physician – other than the obvious – but no-one had yet demonstrated enough temerity to ask what had happened.

Arthur cast a considering, if bleak, look at his knights. His own money was on Gwaine, he thought, wondering why it was only now he could recognise how jealous he’d been at the friendship Gwaine had shared with Merlin; jealous because of its ease and because it had drawn Merlin away from spending time with Arthur.

All the knights were showing signs of their sorrow, but Gwaine was stern and beautiful in his obvious heartbreak. If that man didn’t have noble blood in him somewhere, Arthur would eat Merlin’s favourite feathered hat. He drew in a sharp, shattered breath as the grief threatened to pierce through his fragile defences.

Only one person seemed less than upset at Merlin’s death and Arthur glanced to his side at Agravaine. Even in the midst of his own muddied emotions of anger and guilt, grief and betrayal, he hadn’t been able to miss the aura of satisfaction that seemed to cloak Agravaine. If he hadn’t been so weary and heartsick, Arthur might have spent longer wondering what it meant. For the moment, though, it was merely an irritation and he found himself moving closer to his knights. Gwaine didn’t spare him a look, his gaze fixed on the hideous stack of wood, and the swaddled form it cradled. Arthur swallowed back bile and was grateful for the quick press of Leon’s hand on his shoulder, letting the touch of a sympathetic friend soothe him for a moment, even though he knew he didn’t deserve it.

None of them would ever know that it was Arthur who had killed Merlin.

Merlin. Dragoon. Merlin, who had hidden his magic for so long, and rightfully so, when in the end Arthur had taken his life in an instant. No matter that he hadn’t known it was Merlin until the sword had done its work, he’d still killed Merlin because of the magic.

Leon’s hand slid away, and with it some anchoring hold on his own emotion as the guilt rose up to smother everything else. Gaius’ eyes were upon him, his mouth set in a thin, grim line and in his steady look, Arthur knew he had been judged and found wanting. His knights had been surprised when he’d deferred to Gaius’ assertion that he, and not Arthur, would set the pyre aflame. In a few private moments following that meeting, he’d informed Arthur that he’d wait to collect Merlin’s ashes so he could return him to Hunith, and he would stay with her in Ealdor. He’d turned away before Arthur could manage to find any words or be in a position to force them past the blockage in his throat. Later, when Leon had questioned him, he’d been able to say with all truthfulness that Merlin had been as a son to Gaius, and it was his place to offer this final service.

Arthur dragged his attention back to the here and now and managed a bleak nod, whether of permission or acknowledgment he wasn’t sure. Gaius stepped forward, accepting the lit torch from Geoffrey’s shaking hand and Arthur watched as Gaius seemed to gain enough strength from somewhere to walk steadily to the pyre. He reached up and touched the shrouded figure, saying something quietly before he bowed his head and stepping back. For a moment, the whole courtyard was still, as if held by some enchantment, and even the biting wind dropped to nothing.

Gaius thrust the torch into the base of the pyre and stumbled backwards to move away from the heat as the flames licked quickly at the dry kindling and caught with a fierce crackle and snap. Gaius’ brief surge of strength deserted him then, and he sank to the cobbles, his shoulders heaving and his head bowed.

Arthur fixed his blurring eyes on the red, gold and orange of the flames encroaching on the body, and it was a moment before he registered the restlessness of the audience in the yard, the way eyes were cast skyward. It was a cry from Leon raising the alarm that dragged his attention away from the swirling colour. In the end, it was only the gold he’d been able to see.

“Clear the courtyard.”

There was the clean, metallic zing of a score of swords being pulled from scabbards in a single beautifully co-ordinated movement and Arthur, roused from his stupor, looked upwards just in time to see the huge form of a dragon glide over the walls, back-winging with surprising grace as it settled on the other side of the burning pyre.

Arthur, made almost insensible by the myriad confusions of emotion, realisation and shock, stood and watched as the great beast drew in a breath, and somehow he was totally unsurprised when a blast of icy cold air doused the flames, leaving the body wrapped in its coverings still untouched.

What did shock Arthur, however, was the moment the dragon moved forward and speared Arthur with its great golden eyes – and spoke.

“I have come for my Lord,” it said.

No-one moved. Everyone was petrified at the sight of this, the very dragon that had attacked Camelot, the very one Merlin – oh Merlin, that knave, that scoundrel, that soft-hearted fool – had told Camelot that Arthur had killed.

The dragon surveyed the knights calmly, before turning its head to look at Gaius. Arthur noted that Gaius seemed unsurprised and wondered just how much had happened over the years since Merlin’s arrival in Camelot. How much did Arthur not know? Gaius started and then bowed, glancing at Arthur and he thought he saw some softening in the grim features.

The dragon’s attention returned to Arthur and it stared at him now. Into his mind words came, words for him alone.

_“You have changed the course of your destiny, Pendragon, and now the path to the future is murky and unsure. You have slain the other half of your coin, that which made you whole, and I grieve for your loss. Give me my Lord.”_

Startled, wondering, Arthur found himself stepping forward, ignoring Leon’s aborted cry of alarm. He clambered up the pyre, ignoring the soot and ash staining his robe, and he gathered the shrouded figure in his arms. Carefully, he stepped down and, clutching Merlin close to his chest, he walked around to face the dragon.

“You know what happened?” Arthur felt he should have been surprised, or should be angry, or should be – any one of a hundred more appropriate emotions. Instead, he was bemused by the understanding and ancient knowledge in the golden eyes, eased more than he could ever admit, by the compassion he found there.

“I never meant –“ he began, swallowing as his words came out low and husky, voice trembling.

The dragon spoke aloud this time, “You are quick to anger, young King. This has been a harsh lesson for you, but one you must learn. Beware, King Arthur, the voice of others and listen to your own heart. Merlin believed in you and he loved you, so in his honour I will come if you have need of me.”

Without any further speech, and with a delicacy that amazed Arthur when he had time to think on it later, the dragon reached forward to pluck the body from where it was nestled close to Arthur’s heart. A new kind of grief rose to choke Arthur then, and all he could do was nod an acknowledgement and force his arms to loosen their grip.

With a great upsweep of wings, it launched itself into the air and the final words came into Arthur’s mind once more, for him alone.

_“Beware Agravaine – he reeks of dark magic. If you need to call me, my name is Kilgharrah.”_

He was gone before Arthur could voice any one of the questions that had occurred to him and he could only watch, squinting against the harsh light of the early sun, as a dark silhouette carrying a precious burden, gradually disappeared from view.

“Sire?”

It was Gwaine who dared approach him in the end and when Arthur turned and drew in a deep, gasping breath, he saw that the courtyard was empty and the pyre was already dismantled and gone. The only other person waiting was Gaius and there was something in his stance that jolted Arthur’s deadened heart back to life.

Gwaine’s eyes were red and he scrubbed a hand across his face before he spoke. “Leon is arranging an early training session. He thought it best.”

Arthur nodded in response, his eyes still fixed on Gaius and Gwaine, following a comforting clasp to Arthur’s shoulder, took his leave without speaking further.

You wouldn’t be so kind if you knew what I’d done, Arthur thought, as he walked across to Gaius.

Gaius was standing straight and tall, as if the weight of a world had been lifted from his shoulders, but even so Arthur was surprised by the slight smile, the renewed light in his eyes. It was almost as if he had hope again. Arthur felt his own heart clench in relief as a kindly look was bestowed upon him, a regard that had been missing in the last few days’ confusion of anger and grief.

“Tell me about him?” he asked.

Gaius glanced behind Arthur and bowed before speaking quietly and for his ears alone. “I will, Sire. Come this evening.”

He bowed and turned away, heading for his chambers and Arthur didn’t need to look to know who was behind him.

“Agravaine.” He knew his greeting was cool, with Kilgharrah’s warning still resonating through his mind and he managed to smile slightly. If the man was an enemy, then the last thing Arthur should do is alert him to the fact he harboured any suspicion. Part of him could hardly believe it, but when Gaius had angrily thrust the pendant at him and told him what it had done, the first doubt had slipped in. The only person he’d told about Dragoon – about Merlin - was Agravaine.

Since that moment, even within his own grief, he’d noticed the way the different knights reacted around his uncle. Some of the older knights, those his father had trained, seemed wary of him and while a number of the younger ones were swayed by Agravaine’s rank as a member of the royal household, those knights that Arthur considered his, like Gwaine and Elyan, avoided Agravaine as much as they could.

“Sire, we will need to determine why the dragon came for your servant, and how we can destroy it.”

He spoke with an avuncular authority that had been irritating Arthur more and more since Agravaine’s arrival in Camelot. His excuse for his appearance had been ostensibly to offer his help and support to Arthur, especially since the news of Morgana’s betrayal had left Uther a broken and weak King.

Now Uther was dead and Arthur was king, and he could see Agravaine manoeuvring to consolidate a position of power within the court. Merlin had disliked and distrusted Agravaine, too, Arthur recalled and with the thought of Merlin’s name, he had to stifle the sharp gasp of pain before it could betray more than he wanted Agravaine to know. He took a moment to stare into the distance, maintaining a stoic and thoughtful expression while wondering why it was memories of Merlin, rather than his father, that elicited such a reaction.

He gathered himself. “There are many things I must consider now I am King,” he said, and let Agravaine take the ambiguous response any way he might.

**

Arthur was weary of courtiers in general and Agravaine in particular by the end of a long, fretful day. The appearance of the dragon had them all rattled and long discussions of why it had taken Merlin, and whether it would attack again took on a circular, repetitive cadence. Arthur, listening to the tone and the nuances, thought of what Merlin – wise Merlin, stupid Merlin – would be muttering into his ear when he thought he’d get away with it. For the first time he truly understood that Merlin had never been complaining, but instead he’d been interpreting and commenting, insightful and incisive. Now, Arthur had to think for himself and to consider the meanings behind the words. Agravaine’s tactics became clearer with Kilgharrah’s warning still fresh in his mind, and he began to recognise the way Agravaine would phrase sentences, delivering poison in minute barbs, eating away at the confidence of the courtiers, never saying anything outright, and wrapping everything up in professions of care for Camelot, implying weakness in Arthur by the way he asserted Arthur’s strengths. It was insidious and had, Arthur now understood, been happening since the moment Agravaine had arrived in Camelot, uninvited and without notice.

A new caution took up residence within him and he took care to dine with Agravaine as he had been in the habit of doing. Every mouthful of food stuck in his throat, but he imagined Merlin’s nagging voice telling him he had to eat and forced down enough to avoid any comment. Tonight was the second night of Uther’s lying in state and the following night Arthur would hold vigil alone before his father was interred in the vaults and Arthur was officially crowned. Tonight, though, he would have time and as soon as he could without arousing suspicion, he excused himself and headed for the room where his own knights congregated.

There didn’t seem to be much solace for him there, he realised, entering a room where the atmosphere was strained. Gwaine was red-eyed and scowling alternately at Elyan, Leon and into the depths of a tankard. Percival was glancing worriedly between them all.

Arthur sighed. It was always Merlin who leavened out the relationships of those who surrounded Arthur. Gods, Merlin. Without speaking, he headed for the jug of ale, surprised to find it almost full. Once he’d poured himself a serving, he settled in a chair.

“So, how many of you knew Merlin was a sorcerer?”

Gwaine shrugged. “I did wonder. Didn’t bother me one way or another.”

Elyan was blunter. “I didn’t know and if I had I would have denounced him. Magic is dangerous.”

“I had no idea, and if I’d known,” characteristically, Leon paused before he finished the thought. “I would have told you privately, Arthur.”

That explained Gwaine’s scowling and the tense atmosphere readily enough.

“I knew.”

They all stared in surprise at Percival’s soft admission.

Percival shrugged. “Lancelot was fond of Merlin and spoke of him often before we met. When the landslide saved us from Morgause’s army, I was looking at Merlin. I saw him cast and when I confronted Lancelot later he admitted that he’d also witnessed Merlin’s magic. Merlin was a good man, having magic was never going to change that.”

Arthur sighed and scrubbed a hand through his hair. He took a deep draught of his ale and considered all their words. “He never told any of us.”

“He was afraid,” Gwaine said, with an unfriendly look at Elyan. “Seems like he had the right of it, too.”

It was Leon who responded. “Elyan’s father ended up being executed because of a sorcerer, Gwaine.”

“A sorcerer – not Merlin. You don’t blame every pretty blond man just because one pretty blond man did something stupid.”

For a horrible moment, Arthur froze, wondering what Gwaine might have guessed, but then he caught the sly look Gwaine was casting in his direction and realised it was the man’s way of lightening the strain in the atmosphere.

Elyan snorted, but reached for the jug and topped up Gwaine’s tankard then his own before he spoke. “I can’t believe Merlin could ever wish us harm – and he did die in defence of the King, after all. But I stand by my belief that magic is dangerous.”

“So is a sword,” Percival’s response was spoken with a quiet assurance that seemed to end the discussion, as the others all nodded in agreement.

Arthur had to work hard not to wince as Elyan offered up the story Arthur and Gaius had agreed, of Merlin confronting a sorcerer and dying trying to protect the King. He was humbled by Percival’s calm acceptance, and his understanding of something Arthur was only beginning to acknowledge; Merlin had never been a danger to them.

Swallowing hard, he spoke. “I need to talk to you about Agravaine.”

The sad, quiet air was dispelled as the four knights were suddenly alert and keen-eyed. Elyan stood and went to the door, opening and checking the corridor beyond.

Arthur waited until he had closed the door again and nodded to indicate there was no-one else nearby. Despite the assurance, Arthur kept his voice low and they huddled closer to listen.

“The dragon spoke to me today. He said that Agravaine reeked of dark magic.” He held up a hand to dispel the objections he could see forming. “I wouldn’t necessarily have paid heed to a creature that has waged war against us and I’m not entirely sure what his words might mean, but I have my own existing concerns and observations. I overheard one of the stablehands talking about Agravaine leaving the citadel at night, yet he’s never mentioned it. I question, too, some of the decisions he’s beginning to make – and orders he’s given in my name.”

Leon nodded. “I was going to talk to you, Sire, but recent events put it from my mind. He ordered me to change some of the patrol routes and said the orders had come from you. I stated that I would make no changes unless they were from your lips or on paper accompanied by your personal seal. He blustered and said he’d discuss it with you, but he’s said nothing further.”

One by one the others provided their own accounts of various exchanges with Agravaine, and together it built up a picture of a concerted effort to undermine both Arthur and the knights closest to him.

After a pause which Gwaine used to refill their tankards, Arthur said, “We need to find out what he’s up to – but we also must ensure that he doesn’t realise we’re suspicious. Leon, set up a watch on him and manage it between yourselves. I don’t want anyone other than the people in this room and Gaius to be aware of what we’re doing.”

He let Leon lead the discussion, taking his leave shortly afterwards to stalk through the corridors to Gaius’ chambers.

**

Gaius bid him enter when he knocked and was putting a large ancient tome to one side, carefully marking his place, when Arthur approached the table.

They regarded one another, sober and sad, before Gaius gestured to him to sit. Arthur took his place and still without speaking, pulled the book towards him, ignoring the suddenly aborted reaction, as if he wanted to drag the book from Arthur’s grip.

Careful not to displace Gaius’ marker, he browsed through it, unable to make much sense of it though some things looked familiar and he recognised an occasional notation in Merlin’s own sprawling hand.

Sighing, he closed it gently. “There’s so much I don’t know, isn’t there?”

“We couldn’t tell you, Arthur, you need to understand that.”

“You were afraid of my Father. You were afraid of me.” Arthur was amazed how much that thought hurt.

“If we’d told you – if Merlin had told you – it would have put you in an impossible position.”

“Did the dragon speak to you, too?”

“He did.”

There was a tone in Gaius’ voice that stopped Arthur asking for any more details and instead he shared his own brief conversation.

“Whatever has happened in the past, Gaius, has had a bearing on everything that came after and on what is happening now. I need to know.”

“And I’ll tell you everything.”

Before he could begin though, Arthur had one more thing to say, blurting the words out on a quiet, pained whisper from the hidden place inside that hurt more than he felt he could bear.

“Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

Gaius considered him and now his eyes were kind. “I was angry at first, but you believed you were under threat and instinct made you react as you did, I understand that. I’ve known you and loved you since the moment of your birth, Arthur. I’m not sure I can ever completely forgive you – but I’ll never stop loving you.”

Arthur swallowed hard. “Would Merlin ever forgive me?” he wondered aloud and was surprised when Gaius managed to chuckle.

“My dear boy,” Gaius said. “I’m quite sure he already has.”

Arthur wanted to ask what he meant, why he was so sure Merlin would forgive his murderer but Gaius continued.

“I made a vow to your father never to speak of some of these matters, but without knowing it all, you would never be able to understand. My loyalty has always been to you, Arthur, and to the prophecy you were born to fulfil – you and Merlin.”

For a long time, Arthur simply listened while he heard the sequence of events that had led them to this terrible pass. Later, he had questions and gradually the conversation segued into a discussion of how to move forward and about the possibility that Agravaine could be in league with Morgana.

“Merlin certainly believed he was working against you. It’s wise to keep a watch on him.”

Nodding in agreement, Arthur added. “He’ll work to consolidate his power within Camelot, too, and I’ve no doubt that means he’ll try to discredit you, and possibly Leon and Gwaine within the knights. Percival and Elyan have been leading most of the patrols since Agravaine arrived so he’s less aware of our friendship, though I won’t discount it. Don’t be alarmed if I seem to go along with some of Agravaine’s ideas – I need to ensure he doesn’t become suspicious.

“I understand, Arthur.” Gaius pushed himself to his feet and stirred the small pot that had been heating in the embers of the fire. He poured steaming liquid into two small pottery beakers and handed one to Arthur.

“Some honeyed mead,” he offered. “It’s past time for an old man like me to be abed – and you look like you could use some rest, too. Drink that down and take yourself off.” He resumed his seat and stared into his own portion.

Arthur accepted it with a wry smile, cupping his hands around the vessel before sipping the warm liquid and they sat in a silence that was almost comfortable until they’d both finished.

As he left, Arthur touched Gaius’ shoulder. “I can’t undo what I’ve done, but I’ll strive every day to be the King Merlin believed I can be. You have my word on that.”

 

**

The following night Arthur held vigil with his father’s body. It was a bittersweet time. There was grief aplenty, but it was mixed with a horror at what Uther had done in the name of love, and his guilt at his own complicity in much of it. He’d never taken much pleasure in the execution of those accused of magic and had conspired to be absent as often as possible, but he’d rarely spoken against it and, until Merlin had arrived, he’d never gone against anything his father had decreed. It was sobering to review much of his life in the light of this new knowledge, recognising now how Merlin had changed him, yes, but the years of being held in thrall to the power and determination of Uther had made it a long journey that was only reaching a conclusion because of Arthur’s crime.

He had murdered Merlin. He’d murdered his best friend and, he acknowledged in the depths of a long, cold and lonely night, he’d murdered the person he loved most in the world. Merlin had been his anchor and now Arthur felt cast adrift. All he could do was cling to the rock that was his memory of good sense and teasing; of silent friendship offered, and the realisation of so much more that Merlin had done for him.

_I’ll be happy to be your servant until the day I die._

The Gods forgive me, thought Arthur, because like Gaius, he would never truly be able to forgive himself.

**

When he left the room at dawn, he was shocked to find Gwaine and Leon standing like statues in place of the palace guard. They bowed deeply as he closed the doors behind him, shutting out the sight of the man he did still love, despite everything he now knew.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“Starving,” said Gwaine.

Leon rolled his eyes.

Arthur let loose a short bark of laughter, the sound grating through his throat. “Let’s see what the kitchen can offer us, then.” He didn’t ask where Elyan and Percival were, knowing that the previous night would be an ideal time for Agravaine to carry out whatever nefarious dealings he had in progress.

Once he’d broken his fast, he walked through the castle towards his own chambers, presenting a calm and dignified façade to the world, stopping now and then to exchange a word or two with nobles and servants alike. When he entered his rooms and shut the doors he let his expression slip, leaning back against the wood and sighing.

A slight cough had him almost leaping out of his skin. For a brief, wild, wonderful moment, he thought it was Merlin, until the figure moved into sight and he recognised one of the senior castle servants.

“George?”

“Your Majesty, the steward has appointed me as your manservant for the time being. I have laid out your ceremonial accoutrements for the coronation, Sire, and there is a bath prepared.”

The epitome of a perfect servant, Arthur remembered that about George. By now Merlin would have insulted him half a dozen times and be chivvying him towards the wooden tub.

Arthur didn’t have the energy to object and merely stood quietly as George began the task of undressing him. Eventually, he eased himself into the hot water with another sigh.

George hesitated, and then handed over the soap and cloth, rather than attempting to bathe Arthur. Arthur appreciated the thoughtfulness, because he didn’t think he could bear another’s hands on him.

Once he was dry and dressing, George cleared his throat. “As this is an official occasion, Sire, should I wear the ceremonial hat?”

Arthur stared at him, nonplussed until he saw a quiet gleam of amusement in George’s eyes. It amazed him, he had never thought of George being anything other than a crashing bore.

He let loose a short bark of laughter and witnessed the pleasure flash quickly across George’s face before his expression was once more wiped clean into that of the perfect servant.

“I rather suspect that hat met a nasty end.”

“It may be so, Sire. I do recall a certain odour of burning feathers and velvet from the bread oven one day. I’m sure I could find another?”

“That won’t be necessary, thank you.”

Arthur was still smiling slightly at the memory of Merlin’s reaction when Arthur had forced him to wear the said article.

“Merlin is much missed by us all, Sire,” George said, his voice quiet, “He was always ready with a cheerful word and would help anyone who was in need.”

Even a completely oblivious Prince, Arthur thought to himself, and he paused as he passed George in the doorway. “Thank you, George,” he said, and touched the man’s shoulder as he left the room. His knights fell into place behind him, the guards in front, and he stalked through the corridors to the throne room, ready to make his vows to the people of Camelot.

**

As he stood, newly crowned, and scanned the smiling, cheering people, he tried not to search for the one face he’d never see again.

“Long live the King! Long live the King!” The cries resounded through the room, and into his mind a rumbling admonition.

_“Rule well. Remember him.”_

I will, he promised, silent and sure.

**

Arthur wouldn’t exactly say he settled in easily to his new role as King. Despite the fact this was something he’d been born for and raised to expect, he hadn’t believed it would happen so soon. Most of the time he felt like an imposter, as if his father would come roaring round the corner to disagree with something he’d done and make another decision entirely.

He was grateful that his suspicions had been raised over Agravaine, however, as he could see how his Uncle’s words and actions would have influenced him otherwise. Now, he maintained a calm dignity as he dealt with affairs of state and tried not to miss Merlin’s unwavering, if often unorthodox, support. Now that he was considering his actions, and taking more time to ponder the motivations of those around him, he began to see the way others were trying to fill the void of Merlin’s absence.

Gaius and Geoffrey were both fonts of knowledge and experience, his own four knights provided loyalty and steadfastness, Gwen was a friend and sounding board, offering him insights into the way the castle, town and country operated on a very personal level. And even George was getting in on this random, informal conspiracy, developing a chivvying manner and sly sense of humour that occasionally matched Merlin. It was taking all of them, he realised, to deliver what Merlin had managed all alone. He’d managed so much more, too, Arthur thought, and was sometimes a little surprised that there hadn’t been some form of magical attack since his coronation.

Despite the help and support, the knowledge that Agravaine was working against Camelot, together with Merlin’s physical absence, made each day a chore to get through. He struggled onwards, imagining Merlin’s mocking voice egging him on, pushing him to do the best he could. His days were long and exhausting and he tumbled into his bed late every night and, despite his worries, concerns, guilt, and dreadful grief, he slept heavily until woken early by George to face another day. Sometimes he dreamt of Merlin, seeing him as if through another’s eyes, ill, pale and unhappy at first but gradually becoming stronger. Once, Merlin was bathing and his skin glimmered like marble in the moonlight as he stood thigh-deep in the waters of a mountain lake. In the dream, Arthur had gasped aloud at the desire the sight had elicited and Merlin had turned, his expression astonished, just as Arthur woke to the demand of his body, to a new understanding, and to a deeper grief.

**

The last thing he needed, therefore, was to be woken from a deep sleep by the clarion call of the warning bell. His heart pounded in his chest as he flung himself out of the bed and hauled on breeches and shirt, grabbed his sword and was in the corridor almost before he was fully awake. He paused as he heard Leon call his name, and waited until the knight was by his shoulder and they stalked through the corridor together. There was a subdued air of purposeful action, of which Arthur approved. As they walked he saw the way the night guard was being augmented by others at significant parts of the castle.

The quiet preparations he had been making in case of attack were falling into place and as Agravaine approached at the head of another group of knights, Arthur saw Gwaine, who was staying close to his uncle in another planned action. Arthur noticed the way Agravaine’s eyes scanned over the corridor and knew he was taking note of the changes.

“Sire, thank the Gods you’re safe.”

“Thank you, Uncle.” Arthur wondered if everyone else could hear the false note in Agravaine’s voice.

The captain of the guard broke through the milling crowd, closely followed by two guards dragging another man between them.

“A thief, Sire, caught attempting to enter the sealed vault.”

There was a sudden easing in the stance of those knights around Arthur and he too experienced the relief in the knowledge they were not under attack. He frowned. The vault held artefacts deemed dangerous and many were thought to have magical significance. Arthur was the only one who held the key, and he knew it was safely in his possession.

“We found this on him, Sire.” The captain of the guard handed it over, deftly avoiding the hand Agravaine held out so imperiously. Arthur accepted it with a nod of thanks, a quick encompassing look catching the chagrin in both the prisoner’s and Agravaine’s faces.

Arthur turned it over in his hands, frowning. It reminded him of a Druidic symbol though it was broken and incomplete. Even so, he fancied he could feel the crackle of power coursing through it.

Arthur caught sight of Gaius at the edge of the milling crowd, noting the tension in his expression. Arthur waited until their eyes met and inclined his head the slightest amount as Gaius glanced at the captive and then back at Arthur and the item he held. Arthur tucked it in his belt.

“Take him to the dungeons and post a double guard. I’ll deal with him when I have time.” Arthur didn’t provide any indication when that might be.

As soon as he was able, and without raising Agravaine’s suspicions, Arthur made his way to the physician’s chambers. He waved Gaius back as he went to rise, noting that the same heavy tome was open on the table, and other books were littered on the wooden top.

“What is it, Gaius?”

“The man’s name is Julius Borden and he was looking for the final part of the triskelion you took from him.”

“How do you know him?”

“He was a student of mine many years ago. We parted ways when I realised he was only interested in personal gain. He came to see me earlier asking for my help. I refused and told him to leave. My apologies, Sire, for not informing you, but I didn’t believe he would make such an attempt.”

Arthur brushed aside the apology. “Why would he take such a risk, then? The rewards must be high?”

“Incredibly so,” Gaius indicated the books surrounding him. “I was just confirming my suspicion. What he has is two parts of a key – a key to the tomb of Ashkanar. It’s rumoured that the tomb contains a dragon’s egg.”

Arthur’s eyebrows rose. “My father took me into the vault on several occasions, mostly to lecture me on the danger of magic and magical artefacts. I believe I’ve seen the missing piece of this.” Thoughtful and silent, he pondered. “I’ll return shortly,” he said finally, and was out of the door before Gaius could respond.

 

**

 

When he returned, Gaius had tidied away the books and was stirring something fragrant in the pot over the fire. Arthur wasn’t sure when Gaius had realised his liking for honeyed mead; he supposed it must have been at some point through their conversations late in the evenings, when Arthur had eagerly listened and questioned every aspect of Merlin’s life in Camelot.

He accepted the warm mug with a smile and pulled out the piece of metal he’d gone to retrieve. He handed it over to Gaius and watched, the mug half-way to his mouth, as Gaius put the pieces together and it glowed before slotting together. The light faded to leave the triskelion complete, as if it had never been broken. Arthur tried not to show his disquiet at the sight of magic happening in front of his very eyes and in his own castle, but a quirk of Gaius’ mouth was enough to let him know he’d failed.

“What will you do with it?” Gaius asked.

“Nothing for now – other than keep it safe. Only you and I know it’s now complete.”

For a moment Arthur wondered if Gaius was going to speak, but instead there was only a quiet sigh and a nod of agreement.

 

**

 

Arthur’s first overt dismissal of Agravaine’s advice came some weeks later. On learning of the incursions into his land by Caerleon, Arthur led the patrol himself, tracking the movements of the band until they eventually ran them to ground. The battle was short, though fierce enough, but it ended abruptly when Arthur faced Caerleon sword to sword and swiftly defeated him. His men surrendered and were disarmed and Arthur was now left with the dilemma of what to do with a captive King. Caerleon didn’t help, sneering despite the obvious prowess Arthur had shown in battle, as he dared Arthur to do his worst. He was ably abetted by Agravaine, who spoke convincingly about Uther and the path he would have taken had he been in command. Despite Arthur’s knowledge of Agravaine’s perfidy, he couldn’t help but consider what he counselled. Unbidden, he wondered what Merlin might have said and almost as if he had conjured it, the words came to him.

This isn’t you, Arthur.

When he took a moment further to think on it, he realised Agravaine was mistaken in his assessment of what Uther would have done, too. A captured King was an advantage that should not be so cheaply squandered. No wonder Caerleon was pushing him so hard – his death would not cost his land so much as his captivity could.

Arthur smiled.

His hand ostentatiously placed on his sword hilt, he sauntered across to where Caerleon was restrained. Agravaine had presented him like a common criminal – hands bound behind his back and on his knees before the milling knights. Agravaine and Leon were on either side of him and Agravaine’s hand was pressing down on Caerleon’s shoulder. Arthur noted the deliberately blank cast to Leon’s features.

“Unbind the King,” he said, and carried out a swift catalogue of the changing expressions. Agravaine looked angered for a moment before he managed to catch himself. He looked as if he was about to remonstrate but a lift of Arthur’s hand stopped him. Leon relaxed and his relief was obvious, while Caerleon looked up at him with a wry twist of his lips replacing his earlier recalcitrance.

Once Caerleon was rubbing his freed wrists, Arthur offered a hand. “Please stand,” he requested and while Caerleon ignored the outstretched hand, Arthur waited until he was standing before he spoke again.

“Your Majesty, you have carried out a deliberate raid on Camelot and as such I am within my rights to deal with you. It is my decision that you will return with us to the Citadel, whereupon you will be held under arrest until such time as a suitable recompense for the insult offered to us has been agreed with your Queen. Until that occurs, I ask for your parole.”

Caerleon stared at him for a moment, before sighing and nodding. “You have my parole, Your Majesty,” he said. There was a moment’s pause before he chuckled and commented. “Annis may well decide to leave me with you – she was against this raid and called it foolish.”

“You tested us and we were not found wanting,” Arthur replied, and his tone was stern though he smiled as he spoke. He glanced at Leon.

“Please ensure His Majesty’s men are disarmed, but return the King’s sword to him.”

“Sire,” there was an almost reverent tone in Leon’s voice that brought heat to Arthur’s skin. Agravaine had taken himself off and could be heard giving Arthur’s orders and it was Leon who quickly recovered the sword and offered it to Caerleon with a bow. Caerleon’s gaze was on Arthur as he thanked Leon and sheathed the weapon.

“No, King Arthur, you were not found wanting.”

**

Caerleon was their guest for some weeks and Arthur found that once the initial awkwardness was over, he enjoyed the company of someone who understood the burden of kingship. Agravaine kept his distance, which was another benefit as Arthur was finding it difficult to hide his growing dislike and distaste. It was one thing to undermine the King, but to do so by attempting to start a war in which many ordinary people would have died was the final straw. Caerleon had a keen strategic mind and they would often spend evenings playing chess and discussing matters of state and while both were careful not to give too much away of their own capabilities, there was enough common ground to consider.

On the day Queen Annis rode, stately and disapproving, into Camelot’s courtyard at the head of a small retinue, Arthur and Caerleon were comfortable enough in one another’s company for Arthur to shrug in some sympathy at Caerleon’s wry grimace and they both moved forward to help Annis dismount. Their help was ignored, as she dismounted as ably as if she was a young woman, before turning to greet them.

“Your Majesties,” she said as she dropped into a deep curtsey before them.

Arthur had never seen such a thing as an ironic curtsey in his life, but he definitely recognised it when he saw it and for a brief moment, he was sure he heard the sound of Merlin struggling to stifle a laugh. He had to admit, Annis in this moment reminded him of Merlin at his recalcitrant best.

“Please rise, Your Majesty,” he managed and realised he hadn’t done terribly well at hiding his own amusement as her eyes narrowed. He hurried on, “I have arranged rooms for you. Please permit me to escort you to them. I hope once you have rested you will join us for a quiet dinner this evening.”

“You are too kind, Your Majesty.”

She walked at his side and they exchanged pleasantries about her journey, while Caerleon trailed behind them, following her into the room with a roll of his eyes in Arthur’s direction.

As Arthur paused outside the closed doors, something heavy crashed against the wood and he heard Caerleon’s voice say something in a conciliatory tone he couldn’t catch. Annis was easier to hear as she made her displeasure felt in a voice that Arthur fancied almost made the stone walls shake.

“What were you thinking?”

Grinning, he walked away, stopping a hurrying Gwen in her tracks. “I think you’d better come back a little later, Guinevere.” They both turned to look at the door as something else thumped against it.

“That sounds like good advice,” she agreed and with a smile, she was gone.

Arthur stared after her for a moment, mourning the loss of something that might have been and yet would have been so wrong, he now understood. Marrying Guinevere would have been good for Camelot initially, but for them as individuals, it would never have worked. Not when he could now admit what he had been hiding from, what he had used Gwen to deflect. It was only after many sleepless nights, his recurring dreams of Merlin, and much thought, that he realised both he and Merlin had hidden far too many secrets from one another.

He sighed and headed to his own chambers, knowing George would have prepared a bath. Rolling his stiff shoulders, he reminded himself to be grateful for the perfect servant. He smiled slightly. George was so perfect he was trying to be less so, to be more like Merlin, as he had clearly recognised how much Arthur had relied upon him. He couldn’t quite get it right, but Arthur was touched by the attempts.

 

**

 

Arthur had been careful in his demands of the Kingdom of Caerleon, demanding the opening of trade routes that would benefit both lands, insisting on the acceptance of sovereignty of both Camelot’s and Caerleon’s borders, as well as an amount of gold that would not beggar Caerleon, but also would not be taken as an insult because the price for their King was set too low.

By the time they joined him for dinner, Annis had Caerleon had clearly aired and dealt with their differences, and Arthur envied them the strong relationship they shared. He quickly found that Annis had Caerleon’s keen strategic sense but with a more honed political understanding and he enjoyed their conversations.

They remained in Camelot for a few more days, before setting out on their journey home, accompanied by Percival and Leon to ensure their safe passage and, Arthur hoped, to remove the risk of Agravaine or Morgana trying anything.

Arthur was quite sorry to see them leave and bowed low over Annis’ hand. When he looked up she was considering him, and smiled suddenly.

“There’s something about you, Arthur Pendragon, that gives me hope for us all.”

 

**

Arthur was pleased with the new alliance he’d managed to broker with Caerleon, even happier about the positive relationship they seemed to have forged. In a time of deep unhappiness, the real depths of which he had to hide, this alliance gave him some pleasure. He thought that Merlin might even have been proud of him.

Life continued, and if the hole Merlin had left was never quite filled, those around Arthur did their best to help. His only concern was Agravaine, trying to keep his uncle unaware of his suspicions, while gathering the information he needed to find out what Morgana’s ultimate plan might be.

Leon was discussing the patrol routes Agravaine had attempted to change. They had spent the afternoon plotting them on the map, until they were left with a distinct gap in the coverage of Camelot’s lands. They’d just had enough time to share a congratulatory look, when George knocked and entered. Casually, Leon rolled up the map, but all George’s attention was on Arthur.

“Sire, Gaius requests that you attend him in his room as soon as you may.”

“Thank you, George. Leon?”

Together they swept out of the room, leaving George in their wake as they strode through the corridors. It was unlike Gaius to demand the King’s presence in such a way, but nothing could have prepared them for the sight that faced them when Elyan opened the door to them.

Agravaine was lying face down on the table, and for a moment Arthur thought he was dead.

“Gaius?”

“Sire, Agravaine fell and knocked himself out. When he was brought to me, I noticed something I thought you should see.”

Without another word, he brushed aside the hair at the nape of Agravaine’s neck. Arthur leaned closer, then recoiled at the sight of the discoloured, moving lump he saw there.

“What is it?” Leon was peering over Arthur’s shoulder.

Gaius frowned. “If it’s what I think it is, then it explains why Agravaine acts the way he does. I always wondered why he came to Camelot, when he was adamant throughout his life that he preferred to stay on his own lands at Tintagel.”

Arthur nearly screamed with impatience as Gaius turned away without explaining what he meant but managed to stay calm as Gaius rifled through some shelves and returned with a bowl, a sharp knife and one of his potion bottles.

They watched as he dabbed some of the potion on the lump and it stilled. With precision, Gaius excised what looked like the head of a small snake. He grimaced as he tossed it on the fire and the flames sparked and cracked as they consumed it.

Gaius was off again, and this time he returned with a number of books. Arthur saw Leon’s eyebrows rise at the content as he rifled through them, finally stopping at an illustration.

“It’s my belief we are dealing with a Formorrah. As you can see, this is one of its many heads.”

Arthur stared at the illustration. Even though it was only a drawing, it almost seemed to move on the page, and he swallowed. “What does it do?”

“You said Kilgharrah told you Agravaine reeked of dark magic. I believe this is the root of it. The Formorrah was forbidden by the Old Religion because it takes away your free will. It allows whoever casts the spell to control the actions of another. Agravaine may have no idea what he is doing. It is unlikely that he agreed to work against you.” There was sympathy in Gaius’ eyes then.

“Now that it’s removed, what will happen?”

“If only it was that simple, Sire. Look.” When Gaius brushed the hair aside once more, they could see another had already formed.”

“Oh, that’s not right,” Leon looked ready to lose his last meal.

“How can we get rid of it?” Arthur asked.

“We can’t do that without finding the body of the Formorrah itself. If that is destroyed, then its effects will cease.”

“So it must stay for the time being. If we know Agravaine is under Morgana’s control then we have an advantage. We’ll have to wait until we’ve defeated her before we can deal with it. In the meantime, we need to be sure we can protect him, despite what Morgana’s plans for him and us might be. We’ll tell the others and continue our watch on him, but it goes no further.”

 

**

 

Arthur tried not to tense as Agravaine approached him and instead stayed seated at the round table as he waited to hear what the man might say. In the weeks since they’d discovered the Formorrah, Arthur had attempted to carry out his own plan and react as he had before, but found it difficult to hide the confusion of sympathy and concern he felt, even when faced with Agravaine’s forced duplicity. After a number of patrols had been ambushed, Agravaine himself had raised the possibility of a traitor in their ranks. He wasn’t to know that the skirmishes had been carefully set up by Arthur to help gauge the strength of the overall force at Morgana’s command. Arthur noticed Agravaine’s barely concealed triumph and waited to hear what he was gong to have to face now.

“Sire, I’m afraid I have bad news. Something I can scarcely believe myself.”

With an internal sigh, Arthur said, “Tell me.”

“Gaius has fled in the night, my Lord. There is evidence in his chambers of sorcery. I’m so sorry. I know you cared for him, but I don’t see that we can come to any other conclusion. He is our traitor.”

Arthur let his head sink into his hands as he deliberately projected the image of a man in despair.

“We’ll hunt him down – “

Arthur waved a hand. “That will achieve nothing. Let him run.” He could almost hear Merlin’s voice, telling him off for believing for one second that Gaius would betray him. He managed not to let the wry smile surface. Of course he knew Gaius would never do such a thing, but it wouldn’t hurt to let Agravaine labour under that misapprehension. In his own mind he was quite sure Gaius had been kidnapped and his heart clenched with concern.

For the moment, he had to do some information gathering – and then tonight he could begin the search.

 

**

 

By evening, despite everything he knew, he was close to having Agravaine beheaded for the newly coined crime of smug satisfaction. In the midst of increasing evidence that had clearly been planted, Agravaine had managed to uncover Merlin’s book of magic. Fortunately, Arthur had been present at that point and had appropriated the book immediately, before it could find its way to someone else entirely.

He’d returned to his chambers and spent some time looking through it, his fingers smoothing out the pages, and if his touch lingered over Merlin’s handwriting, there was no-one to see.

When twilight turned to full night, he sighed and put the book safely under lock and key before collecting Gwaine and heading out towards the forest. Leon and Elyan were taking their turn in keeping a watch on Agravaine. Arthur didn’t tell Gwaine what he was planning, leading the way until he came to a large clearing. Once there, he took a deep breath and shouted.

“Kilgharrah. Kilgharrah.”

Gwaine was looking at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses, and Arthur realised he hadn’t exactly warned Gwaine about Kilgharrah and hadn’t told anyone other than Gaius that he knew the dragon’s name. There was a certainty deep inside him, though, that knew Kilgharrah would come and would help in their search for Gaius.

Even before he might have expected it, Arthur heard the sound of great wings beating through the air, eventually drowning out the sound of Gwaine’s cursing as the dragon swooped towards them.

Gwaine’s cursing died down when faced with Kilgharrah’s bulk and Arthur thought there was a certain malicious amusement in the dragon’s expression at Gwaine’s open-mouthed awe.

“Why have you called me?”

“Gaius has been taken – possibly by Morgana.”

“And why does the fate of the physician matter to me?”

“It matters to me – and you promised you would help me if I called.”

There was a sound that was almost like derision from Kilgharrah, before it huffed out a breath.

“He meant the world to Merlin,” Arthur said, his voice no more than a whisper. “And to me.”

“Arthur,” Gwaine tugged on his sleeve. “Arthur, it’s a fucking dragon.”

“Yes, Gwaine, I do see that.”

“And you are Sir Gwaine. You were a good friend to Merlin. He values you.”

“Yeah? Well I valued him, too.” Gwaine’s voice deepened and became rougher.

Kilgharrah seemed to consider them both for a moment, before his attention focused on Arthur. “You have learned much already, young King. I hear of the new friendship between Caerleon and Camelot. Tell me what you know of Gaius’ abduction and I will see if I can help you.”

Thanks to some surreptitious work by George, Arthur had a scraping of unusual soil from the sole of Agravaine’s boots. Arthur had noticed the colour of the soil as he’d followed him along a corridor, and had sent George to gather up the boots of all the knights for cleaning. George had been sulking in a manner that rivalled anything Merlin could have managed – right up until Arthur had snagged one of Agravaine’s boots. His expression had cleared suddenly and he’d bent to his task industriously and with no further comment.

Gwaine peered over his shoulder. “I recognise that. It’s from the caves up in Kemeray

“I will take you there.”

There was a long pause, while both Arthur and Gwaine came to terms with what the dragon was offering. Arthur thought even in the limited light of the moon, Gwaine appeared to have lost colour, and he assumed he looked the same. Arthur swallowed and then found his voice.

“Good. That’s … good. Thank you.”

There was a certain amount of undignified scrambling before the two men managed to situate themselves on Kilgharrah’s back. Apart from a grumbling comment about swords, Kilgharrah had shown remarkable patience, though he did take flight without any warning. Arthur, hanging on grimly to the scaled neck, felt Gwaine clutch at him and there was a noise that definitely sounded like a squeak, which he was going to mention later. By the time they had settled and developed some confidence, they were already high above the tree tops.

Once he was convinced that Kilgharrah wouldn’t let them fall, Arthur began to take more notice of the flight itself. They were powering through the air, faster than any horse could ever gallop and he felt a sudden fierce joy at the sheer speed. Unable to help it, he laughed aloud, and heard Gwaine doing the same. Peering down, he could see the terrain, like the most perfect map and he suddenly wished it was daylight so he could see his land, his wonderful land, from such a vantage point. One day, he thought. He wondered if Merlin had ever seen this sight.

Merlin.

He swallowed and concentrated on what they might be facing when they reached the caves. The dragon would be unable to help them once they were underground and they may have to find a method of luring any force there out into the open.

As they circled round the area, there seemed to be little activity. Kilgharrah set them down as close as he could get them and then settled in to wait. His eyes were ancient and Arthur wondered briefly what terrible things he’d seen over his life. Arthur had already witnessed some of the terrible things he could do and had to push down the familiar surge of rage. Now was not the time. Instead, he tore his own gaze away after nodding in acknowledgement and thanks, and then turned to make his way silently through the brush and trees surrounding the mouth of the caverns.

They slipped into the tunnel, and Gwaine indicated one of the passageways that opened out of the first cave. Arthur nodded in agreement, seeing the slight glimmer of light and they drew their swords before they followed it along the wending corridor of rock towards the end.

As they reached the next cavern, the light was abruptly blocked as a giant of a man, tattooed and almost naked, stepped forward from the entrance. Arthur stared at him, waiting for him to move but when he did, it was not what Arthur had expected.

The man bowed.

Before Arthur could quite scrabble his wits together, the man gestured and then turned his back to them to walk through into the cavern beyond.

Arthur exchanged a look with Gwaine, who shrugged and then walked forward, going through the entrance first.

There was a small fire burning in the centre, with the smoke drifting up and out through a hole in the cavern roof. After all his concern, Arthur had to tamp down on a rising anger borne of relief when he saw Gaius sitting – safe and clearly unharmed – next to another man.

They both rose when Arthur entered and the stranger bowed deeply.

“It is my honour to meet you, Once and Future King. You are spoken of in prophecy as a noble and honourable man. I am Alator of the Catha and I must ask your forgiveness.”

“For what?” Arthur asked, hiding his discomfort at the note of worship in the voice.

“I tested you. Morgana was seeking the identity of Emrys, and bribed me to kidnap Gaius and torture the information from him. I knew if I did not agree, she would find someone else. I am sorry for the concern I have given you, but you have my word that I would never harm any who serve Emrys and the Once and Future King.”

Gwaine’s snort was badly covered by an outbreak of pretend coughing and Arthur had a hard job to stop himself flushing in embarrassment at the continued tone of slavish devotion.

Arthur caught Gaius’ eye then and offered him a short nod of acknowledgement. Gaius’ mouth twitched as he hid his own amusement, but Arthur was concerned as even in this light, he could see that Gaius was pale. There may have been no ill-intent in what Alator had done – just the opposite, because someone else may not have been as careful of Gaius’ health as Alator, but the experience had obviously not been easy on him.

“Please sit, Sire,” Gaius said. “Alator has information for us.”

Gwaine retreated to stand with Alator’s companion and keep watch, while Arthur settled by the fire.

Alator spent some time explaining about the Catha and their network of travellers. “We have pledged our lives to the service of Emrys. We can gather information for you, we can talk with the Druids and other magic users to help keep Camelot safe.”

“Why would you do that?” Arthur asked. “How can you bear to protect Camelot after –“ He couldn’t finish, even after all Gaius had told him, he still found it difficult to speak of Uther and his failings.

“Part of the prophecy promises that Emrys will bring magic back to the land; that he will help you unite Albion and herald a golden age. For the promise of our salvation, we will protect Camelot and protect you as much as we can.”

“Where can I find Emrys?” Arthur wondered about this mythic figure – this sorcerer who would work with him. The realisation came hard on the heels of his question and he recalled the dragon’s words about destiny. He looked across at Gaius and saw all the acknowledgement he needed. “Merlin. It’s so ridiculous it has to be true, doesn’t it?”

Gaius bowed his head.

After several long, difficult minutes, Arthur met Alator’s gaze. “Emrys is dead.”

Alator smiled. “Do you know what the name Emrys means?”

Arthur glanced at Gaius again, and wondered at the expression he saw there. He shook his head.

“You are the Once and Future King, Arthur. To serve you, Emrys cannot die. Emrys is immortal.”

For a moment, Arthur thought he could not possibly have heard that. He dismissed the major implication and concentrated on his more immediate concern. “Are you telling me that Merlin… that Merlin is alive?”

“I do not know,” Alator was fast joining Arthur’s list of irritating people, a list that might well be headed by Merlin at the moment. “I know Emrys is not dead. More than that, I cannot say.”

Arthur turned and stared at Gwaine, seeing the hope that reflected his own.

Merlin, dear Gods, if only it could be true. If only he could have the chance to say…

To say everything.

**

Kilgharrah dropped them at the clearing and Arthur waited until Gwaine had helped Gaius down and, with a swift glance at Arthur, led him back towards the castle.

Arthur sighed and slumped down, unthinkingly leaning back until he was resting against the warm bulk of Kilgharrah’s side. The dragon shifted and let out a breath somewhere between startled and scandalised that anyone would take such liberties with him.

Arthur was the King. If he wanted to lean against a damn dragon, then that’s what he was going to do.

“Why did you attack Camelot?”

There was a long silence and a shiver ran through Kilgharrah’s body, as if surprised he’d been asked. Arthur was almost as surprised when he eventually received a reply.

“I wanted Uther to finally face me. He had killed all of my kin and I believed he’d murdered all the Dragonlords, too. Then he imprisoned me beneath the castle and tried to forget me. I would have razed Camelot to the ground until I could get to him.”

For the first time Arthur was forced to accept his father’s cowardice. Uther must have known what the dragon wanted, but never once had he joined the fight, never once had he stirred from the safety of the castle halls while Kilgharrah was in the air above him. He’d peered down from the window while the ordinary people of Camelot died, while the knights had fought to protect them all. Uther would never have willingly faced Kilgharrah.

So many secrets. So many lies.

Arthur was surprised when Kilgharrah continued and his voice became a soft rumble.

“I tricked Merlin into releasing me, but even after I had attacked his home, he could not kill me. Merlin was the son of Balinor and on his death, Merlin gained the power of the Dragonlords. I begged him for my life. He was merciful.”

Arthur snorted at that. “Of course he was.”

There was a long pause while Arthur considered Kilgharrah’s confession. A lingering anger remained at the lives lost and the destruction Kilgharrah had wrought, but there was understanding, too. He felt perhaps he should be angry at Merlin for releasing the beast in the first place, but Alator’s words and the hope they had brought, had swept everything else away. The silence stretched but was strangely companionable.

“Alator has offered the services of the Catha and the Druids. The information they could provide will be of immense worth, but it means I have to trust magic users. Magic is still illegal in Camelot and I’ll be going against my own laws.” Arthur sighed.

“You ask me for advice?”

“No,” Arthur was adamant. “I know what I must do. Magic must be welcomed into Camelot once more. It will take time, though. I just thought,” his voice faltered. “If you ever happened to be talking to – anyone else – you might say something of what’s happening in Camelot?”

After a few moments, Kilgharrah asked, “And if I did happen to be discussing Camelot with some random person I happen to meet on my travels, what else might I say?”

Arthur ignored the mocking tone.

“You might say Arthur is sorry.” Arthur pulled at the grass by his side.

There was a low rumble. “Perhaps they might be sorry, too?”

“I don’t deserve such consideration.”

“Deserve?” Kilgharrah snarled, his patience seemingly nearing an end. He let loose a puff of air that singed a nearby bush. “You petty humans, so few of you ever get what you truly deserve.” He paused long enough to blow cool air over the smouldering branches. “Sometimes you get much more than you deserve. Be grateful.”

With an irritated huff, Kilgharrah shook himself and with a surge of power, was airborne.

Arthur, left sprawled on his back on the grass, grinned at the sky, and for the first time in months, he felt a weight lift from his heart.

**

He dreamt that night, and Merlin’s kind blue eyes sparkled.

**

A few nights later, Arthur returned to the clearing and called Kilgharrah.

“What do you want now?” The demand was brusque and long-suffering.

“I wanted to thank you for your help. I thought you might like this.” Arthur held up the triskelion, watching the realisation of what he was being offered dawn in Kilgharrah’s expression.

“Do you know what this is?” Kilgharrah asked him.

“Gaius tells me it’s a key – “

“No.”

The interruption was a soft breath of air.

“No,” Kilgharrah repeated. “This is hope.”

**

The months passed, and if Arthur was surprised at the lack of magical attacks on his Kingdom, he took good care neither to comment on it nor to speculate too much on why it might be so. There were rumours of a dragon in the sky, with a rider atop, keeping the land safe. People glanced askance at Arthur when it was mentioned, as if wondering what he would do. Arthur would raise his eyebrows as if he didn’t believe such nonsense, and even Agravaine soon accepted that Arthur was not about to go out in search of a dragon. He wondered what they would think if he told them he never needed to search. Every so often he would travel out to the meadow at night and call Kilgharrah, telling him what he was doing and how those who had loved Merlin were faring.

Gradually, change came to Camelot. The new trade routes through Caerleon to the coast brought prosperity to many, while the fear that had been the legacy of Uther’s madness and which had pervaded Camelot, seemed to ease as the seasons passed and there were no pyres to bring their grief. Arthur tried not to count his blessings and continued on with his own long term plans to build strong relationships across the Five Kingdoms, and begin to ease the laws around the use of magic.

The only person who was unhappy was Agravaine, and Arthur sighed now as his uncle swept along the corridor towards him. Leon was trailing him and cast a grimace at Arthur.

“Uncle, how are you today?”

Recently, Agravaine had often seemed disarmed when Arthur expressed a familial concern and Arthur wondered about whether the Fomorrah might become less effective over time. He knew Gaius had asked Alator to try and discover more information about it, but had heard nothing thus far.

“I… I am well, Arthur, thank you.” He paused for a moment and seemed a little lost, before his expression settled once more into the obsequious mask Arthur so disliked.

“I have some disturbing news, Sire. A group of Druids have crossed the border into Camelot and have set up camp close to Camelot. Shall I send out a patrol to deal with them?”

“The Druids are no threat to us, Agravaine,” Arthur kept his tone relaxed. “Indeed, Sir Leon here has reason to be thankful to them, is that not so?”

“It is, Sire. I believe it is Iseldir’s group that has travelled into our lands. I would appreciate the opportunity to thank him for my life. If you would prefer they left Camelot, I would gladly go to them and escort them out of our land.”

“That won’t be necessary, Sir Leon. As long as they do no harm, then they are welcome here. In fact, we shall ride out together to welcome them.”

Agravaine turned almost purple. “Sire!” His exclamation was outraged.

Arthur stopped him. “No, Uncle. It may have escaped your notice, but I am not afraid of magic, nor of its use. I know why my Father banned it, but I don’t share his opinion. The Druids are a peaceful people and even when persecuted, they have not actively sought to do us harm,” he smiled at Leon, then, “Just the opposite, in fact, and I would like to thank them for my friend’s life.” And he had an apology to make, he acknowledged, but Agravaine didn’t need to know about that.

When they rode out of Camelot, the party was small. Arthur and Leon accompanied by Gaius, his new apprentice and Elyan. Arthur had added Elyan to the party deliberately, to act as chaperone to Gwen and in the hope that contact with Druids would further soften Elyan’s attitude to magic. Arthur smiled at Gwen as she fussed around Gaius as he settled himself onto the wagon, and then mounted her horse with ease. She grinned back at him and it occurred to him then how much more natural their relationship seemed now they had settled into friendship, and now that she had a secure role within Camelot. Taking the position of physician’s apprentice was an obvious choice for her in retrospect and in her need to help, hunger to learn and innate compassion, she had found somewhere she felt she truly belonged. In a moment of clarity, Arthur truly understood that while she would have made an excellent and beloved queen, she could never have been as happy as she was now.

A quick glance showed that they were all ready and he gave the order to move out. Agravaine stood on the steps to watch them leave, his expression fixed in a rictus of a smile. Gwaine and Percival loomed over him, standing either side of him on the step above. They would ensure nothing untoward happened in the short time Arthur was gone.

**

The Druids were setting up camp less than an hour’s ride from Camelot, in the very clearing that Arthur regularly travelled to when he called Kilgharrah. They paused in their work, many appearing wary but calm, as Arthur’s small group approached. Leon was the first to dismount, letting his horse loose to graze as he approached a tall figure with grey hair. Iseldir, Arthur recognised, and felt a brief flare of shame. He took his own time in settling his horse, giving Leon a chance to speak to Iseldir, before he walked across to join them.

Iseldir bowed. “Well met, King Arthur. We welcome you to our camp and invite you to break bread with us.”

“Thank you.”

Leon bowed and left to help Gaius from the cart. Gwen was already talking to one of the women, which left Arthur with an opportunity to speak privately with Iseldir.

“I am sorry for the circumstances of our last meeting,” he began.

Iseldir interrupted him. “It is of no matter now. This is what matters. You have ceased your persecution and you are here to welcome us to Camelot. Those actions mean more than words. Come and meet my family.”

Arthur was nonplussed by the easy acceptance, but could only agree, and was led across to a group of youngsters. Within them, he could see the very boy he’d threatened on his quest for the Cup of Life, and made a point of talking to him. He sensed rather than saw Iseldir’s approval and the boy himself was eager enough to speak to the king.

When evening turned to dusk, a central fire was lit and food prepared. As full dark fell, they were called to the fire and once Iseldir had spoken a blessing, they ate.

Arthur considered the large group around the fire, noting the families sitting together but still part of the whole, watching Gwen and Gaius as they spoke softly with the healers, and grinned at Leon’s antics as he sat with the young men. Something caught his attention, the hint of a scent on the breeze and he looked around.

By the trees, half-hidden in the shadow, stood a cloaked figure. He was holding a bowl of stew, eating hungrily and his long pale fingers were the only part of him Arthur could see clearly. The cloak had a hood that was pulled up and was obscuring the face. Arthur stared at him for a moment, until his attention was called by one of the Druid elders. When Arthur looked again, the figure was gone. Swallowing sudden grief, the fragrant food suddenly tasted like dust and ashes and he looked down into the bowl. Eating slowly, he forced himself to finish it and when he put the bowl aside, Iseldir spoke softly.

“All will be well. Have faith, Arthur Pendragon.”

**

As time passed the Druids became a usual sight in Camelot and Arthur was heartened to see them welcomed into the city by the populace. Gaius explained that before the purge, this had been a normal occurrence and it appeared that the older inhabitants who remembered, were beginning to accept them again, with younger people following their lead.

The Druids brought news gleaned from their travels; some of it was delivered directly to Arthur, intelligence passed along from Alator and the Catha, while the population were treated to tales, legends and prophecies. Arthur took little notice of them at first, until he realised that many were about him. The most far-fetched of them centred around a sword that had been discovered within a forest glade, the blade embedded deep within a great stone.

Only the true king, it was whispered, would be able to pull the sword from the stone. Not any king, but the one who would unite all of Albion into one land and herald a Golden Age.

Arthur had snorted at the fanciful notion, particularly as he was close to tearing his hair out over his attempts to broker a trade deal with Alined at the time, but Gaius, who was recounting the tale, had simply raised an eyebrow.

Alator himself rarely appeared in Camelot and when he did, it invariably meant the news he carried was of great significance. He would arrive at night, finding his way to Gaius’ rooms, whereupon Arthur would be sent for. The caution was merited, as over the months Agravaine veered from making increasingly desperate attempts to undermine Arthur to periods when he seemed confused and almost unaware of where he was. The intelligence they were receiving, along with the help of a growing cadre of magic users had helped thwart a number of attacks, and Arthur knew Morgana must be becoming frustrated. It was imperative she had no idea where Arthur’s information was coming from to keep everyone safe.

Arthur was readying himself for bed when Gwen tapped on his door and asked that he visit Gaius. Grabbing his discarded tunic, he hauled it over his head, his acknowledgment muffled enough so that when he pulled the door open he nearly received Gwen’s fist in the eye, as she’d raised her hand to knock again.

Arthur grinned at her embarrassment and she shook her head at him as they made their way to Gaius’ rooms. All of Arthur’s amusement fled, however, when he found Alator waiting. Gaius was sitting at the table, pale and looking unsteady. Alator was naturally a solemn character, but even he appeared concerned.

Alator bowed and launched into speech. “We have learned that Morgana has allied with the war leader, Helios. She is planning an attack on Camelot. She is searching for the sword in the stone. Once she takes Camelot, she will use magic to take the sword and use it to substantiate her claim to the throne.”

Sitting down, Arthur put his head in his hands, taking a few moments to come to terms with what he was being told. It’s not as if it was a surprise, he accepted, but the reality of it was still a blow. There had been a small part of him, he accepted, that had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, that Morgana might see the changes happening in Camelot and think again. Of them both, Arthur accepted, Morgana was most like their father. She wouldn’t thank him for such a dubious honour, but nevertheless it was true.

Alator’s eyes were fixed on him when he looked up.

“We need to draw her out before she’s ready,” Arthur said. “We need to find the sword in the stone first and bring it here.”

“We know where it is.”

Arthur felt his eyebrows shoot up. “You know?” He shared a glance with Gaius, who didn’t appear terribly surprised by the news.

“We do.”

“And would you bring it here?”

Alator hesitated and traded a look with Gaius. Arthur pretended not to notice the slight inclination of Gaius’ head.

“We could.”

Arthur nodded and felt the slow smile spread over his face. Finally, the sense of waiting for Morgana to act was coming to an end and true to his nature the promise of action was sending a frisson of excitement through him. This he knew, this he understood. Strategy was his strength and with the wisdom of advisers like Alator and Gaius and the support of his knights, he knew their chances of ending this stand off were good.

“Then make those arrangements – and once the stone is in Camelot’s courtyard, we’ll ensure Morgana knows it. It’s the way to push her into action before she’s ready. If we can do that, then there’s every chance she’ll make a mistake.”

Gaius asked, “Forgive me, Sire, but if you defeat Morgana and take her prisoner, what are your plans?”

“I have no choice, Gaius. If she’s not killed in the battle then she’ll be tried as a traitor to Camelot. I will ask Bayard or Caerleon to sit in judgement.” It may be his own brand of cowardice, but the thought of sentencing his own sister to death was something he felt he just couldn’t face. Especially as, through the long conversations with Gaius, he understood how the circumstance had pushed her into this position. Still, in the end she’d made a choice, a choice she continued to pursue even though the persecution of magic users had ceased and the laws were changing.

Gaius bowed his head and his hands clenched together on the table-top, but he did not speak and Arthur had no words of comfort for him

**

Agravaine became their conduit, unaware that the information he was privy to and was passing to Morgana was being closely controlled. The core of the plan Arthur agreed with his fellow monarchs stayed the same to ensure Agravaine was not alerted by any inconsistencies and allowed the more obvious preparations to take place, but timings were altered. The aim was to push Morgana into early action, but in the meantime their allies travelled towards them. Alator organised a cadre of magic users who kept the armies hidden and so news of their slow progress towards Camelot did not reach enemy ears.

On the night before they were due to arrive, Arthur walked to the clearing and called Kilgharrah.

It was only when Kilgharrah had landed and Arthur had settled in his now accustomed spot that he realised he wasn’t alone. With a flash of white and a fluttering of wings, a small creature tumbled off Kilgharrah’s back and into Arthur’s lap.

Arthur just managed to stifle the distinctly unmanly shriek, and he automatically steadied it to save it tumbling off him.

A rumble that Arthur had learned to recognise as amusement came from Kilgharrah before he spoke.

“This is Aithusa. She was your gift to us. We thought you might like to meet her.”

“Aithusa,” Arthur let out a delighted laugh as she squeaked at him, her head tipping to one side before she turned around and around like a cat and slumped down, yawning mightily. Her eyelids drooped as she stared at him and he couldn’t resist tracing a finger across the top of her head. She crooned and her head came to rest on his chest, warm and heavy. Her eyes slid shut.

“She is very young.”

There was something so fond and sad in Kilgharrah’s voice and it brought a lump to Arthur’s throat.

“Why did you call me?”

Kilgharrah’s tone became brisker, and Arthur wondered if he was regretting his moment of weakness. Still petting Aithusa, he explained what they were planning.

“Our allies are due to arrive tomorrow and now I have to rely on Alator to put the final pieces into place.”

“Have no fear, King Arthur, all will be done.”

There was such smugness in the dragon’s tone, and it had Arthur craning his neck to gaze in suspicion at the great golden eye Kilgharrah turned to him.

“I should have guessed,” he was trying to grumble but couldn’t quite hide the fondness within the exasperation.

In his lap, Aithusa burped and was abruptly awake, her head rearing up and she peered into the surrounding forest. Arthur looked in the direction she was staring and he smiled.

“Time for you to go?” he guessed.

“Indeed.”

Aithusa turned her attention back to him as he spoke and she butted him in the chest in what Arthur assumed was an affectionate manner, before she hopped off his lap and clambered nimbly up Kilgharrah’s bulk. Despite the use of her claws, Arthur noticed that Kilgharrah didn’t complain.

“Good luck,” he said, directing his words to the trees.

**

His awakening was heralded by a thundering tattoo on his door, and he had no time even to call out, before the door crashed open and Percival almost fell at the foot of the bed. Elyan followed him in, tripping and cannoning into Percival. Arthur sat up and stared in exasperation, and fortunately didn’t have to ask for an explanation.

“You have to look,” Percival gasped out. “Look.” He gestured at the window. His normal calm steadiness was a thing of history and he slumped against the bedpost, clutching onto it as if it was the only thing keeping him upright.

Elyan was grinning as much at Percival’s antics as Arthur’s expression, Arthur assumed – or at least hoped.

“Report, Sir Elyan?”

Elyan sobered and stood straight and tall as he spoke crisply, giving Arthur the information he needed and providing Percival with enough time to pull himself together.

“Agravaine is under guard. Gaius says the Fomorrah is dead and his mind is his own again, but he’s very confused. Agravaine has asked to speak with you when you have time.

"The armies from Caerleon, Mercia, and the other kingdoms have arrived and are being shielded by the Catha. The Kings and Queen Annis will be joining you when you break your fast.

"Morgana’s army has been sighted moving towards Camelot and the entrance to the siege tunnels is being watched. It looks like the attack will take place within the next few hours, probably before the usual time for the morning meal. The men you’ve allocated will follow the invaders in to block their retreat as you ordered. The gates will be opened to allow the rest of the army to enter.

"Gaius and Gwen have the hospital ready and the Druids have come to help them.

"And there’s a bloody great stone with a bloody great sword stuck in it in the middle of the courtyard.”

“Yes, that,” said Percival. “You’ve got to look.” And he all but dragged Arthur to the window.

It was just as they said. Sitting in the cobbled yard, barely visible in the early dawn light, was something from legend. Except, somehow Arthur thought he might have an idea who was behind both the sword in the stone and the way the so-called legend had swept through the land. Despite the looming conflict, Arthur felt suddenly cheerful. Hopefully by the end of this day, Camelot would be safe.

“Gentlemen, thank you. Find Leon and Gwaine and join us in the Great Hall. I’ll be there shortly. We must be ready and in place within the next hour.”

Percival had recovered his equilibrium and it was two very proper knights who bowed and took their leave.

Arthur chuckled at the memory of Percival’s lapse of dignity, before he washed quickly and was struggling into his mail, head covered, when he heard the door opening and George’s indignant voice.

“I told them I would wake you. My apologies, Sire.”

Arthur was grateful when deft hands sorted out the mail shirt for him and before he knew it he was dressed and was being handed some bread and meat, while George poured some watered wine.

“No doubt you won’t get much chance to eat, Sire, so best to take something now.” George was fussing and Arthur watched, slightly bemused as he fluttered around the room, “I thought your circlet rather than your crown this morning, Sire?”

Arthur had a mouth full of bread, so nodded and waited while George buffed the gold unnecessarily and inspected it closely before offering it to Arthur with a bow.

Repressing the urge to smile in the face of George’s solemnity, Arthur accepted with an inclination of his head and placed the circlet on his head. He drew in a deep breath, and with a final nod, he strode out to face the day.

**

 

“Uncle.” For the life of him, Arthur couldn’t manage to hide the wariness in his tone. Even on first sight, before Agravaine had spoken, Arthur knew this wasn’t the same man he’d been dealing with over the long months that had passed.

“You Majesty,” Agravaine bowed, his features set into grim lines. The oily, obsequious tone was missing and this was altogether a sterner figure. “Your physician has explained what has happened to me. I can only apologise that I was weak enough to succumb –“

Arthur raised a hand to halt the flow of words.

“You were the victim of magic, Agravaine, weakness or strength could not stand against that.

Agravaine was still. “You are of Uther’s mind, then, and believe magic to be evil?”

“I am not. Magic has its place in the world and we in Camelot will have to learn how to live with it once again. I believe it can be used for evil, yes, just as a sword can, just as words can. The Druids and magic users across the Five Kingdoms are working for us, seeking to protect our land. They are my people and in turn for their service, I will do everything I can to protect them.”

The slightest twitch of Agravaine’s mouth was the only clue to Arthur that he’d surprised him, but some of the tension left Agravaine’s frame.

“You’re so very like your Mother,” he said, and he smiled at Arthur then, even though the pain in his eyes was clear.

In that moment, Arthur knew they could never be close, that Agravaine still felt the loss of his sister keenly and while he didn’t blame Arthur, his likeness to her would be enough to keep him away.

Despite the understanding, or perhaps because of it, he knew Agravaine would not betray him now.

“I think my Mother had great honour,” he managed, “and that she learned it from her brothers.”

Agravaine inclined his head and accepted the compliment.

“Gaius has also explained what you need me to do, and I will play my part as well as I am able. I hope once the battle is over, you will permit me to return to Tintagel.”

“It will sadden me not to be able to know you better, Uncle, but you have my permission and my gratitude.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“We’ll have a final briefing over our morning meal. Perhaps you would join us before you take your place?”

In response, Agravaine picked up his cape and sword and without speaking, they walked together to the Great Hall to find the others waiting for them.

 

**

The worst part about any battle, Arthur considered, was the period just before it began, when every nerve and sinew is ready, heart beating hard and fast, and yet all that can be done is to wait. Arthur was ready to attack his own shadow by the time the young druid arrived, panting and sweating, to inform Arthur that Morgana and Helios had entered the siege tunnels and that Agravaine was waiting to let them enter the castle and lead them to the courtyard. Wary of providing any alert, the Druids had counselled against the use of even the smallest magics in case Morgana sensed it, and so the young and fleet of foot were employed to pass messages before being sent off to help the healers out of harms way.

Arthur nodded his thanks and clapped the boy on the shoulder, before turning to cast his eyes over the courtyard. It had been carefully staged to look like any other morning with the castle just waking. The few people present were those who would be expected at this hour, the baker, the farmer bringing in the milk, some servants bustling to and fro. Every one of them was a knight from one of his Allies’ forces. None of Camelot’s knights were present, lest Morgana recognise one of them too early.

The sound of a crow cawing cut through the air: the signal that all of Morgana’s force had entered the tunnels. Arthur drew in a deep breath. It was time.

Only a score or so of the men followed Morgana out of the narrow opening. From his vantage point in the shadows, where he stood with the kings and queens of the Five Kingdoms, he watched as she strode forwards towards the sword in the stone, with Agravaine pacing grim-faced at her side, and part of him wept to see Morgana so changed. The rest of her force were already trapped within the tunnel, Bayard’s men moving in behind them and Camelot’s own knights moving to block the entrance into the castle.

There was the touch of a hand to his shoulder and he quirked a smile at Annis, before he stepped forward, drawn sword ready.

“Morgana.”

She spun around to face him, her eyes narrowing.

“Brother, dearest.”

She mocked him, but her eyes scanned the courtyard as she spoke and Arthur could see the moment she realised she was trapped and outnumbered. Out of the shadows of the cloister, Bayard, Olaf and Caerleon stepped forward, so they could be seen although they did not speak.

“It’s over, Morgana.” Even though he knew it was hopeless, he had to attempt some reconciliation. “My allies are the Catha and the Druids, as well as all the Five Kingdoms and beyond. Magic users have been helping me to keep us safe and I’ll reward that loyalty by removing the ban on the use of magic. Morgana, you said you wanted magic to return. Your fight is won.”

“My fight will never be won while you sit on my throne, Arthur Pendragon.”

“The throne is rightfully mine, Morgana. You may be Uther’s issue and my elder, but you have no claim, and you know that.”

“Unless you’re dead.”

Her eyes were narrowed and he could see no semblance in her to the woman who had loved Camelot’s citizens, who had teased and supported him through the years.

“Unless I’m dead.” Arthur agreed. His knew his tone was bleak and he turned his head to check on how the knights were dealing with Helios and his men. For some reason, even now, he still believed that Morgana retained some honour.

In the next instant Agravaine’s voice, raised in alarm, alerted him to his mistake and he turned just as his uncle’s body cannoned into him, throwing him to the ground. Agravaine remained standing though he staggered and was pale, breathing heavily as he rallied enough to slide his sword, swift and sure, into Morgana’s body before he collapsed onto the cobblestones. Gaius was at his side in an instant as Arthur scrambled over to them.

“Arthur,” Agravaine smiled and Arthur knew it was the first and last he would receive as he saw the dagger embedded in Agravaine’s side. A killing wound.

“You saved me.”

“I’m glad,” Agravaine managed. “My honour is satisfied and I go to join my family.” He fought for breath for a few moments. “Tintagel is a long way from Camelot, but I ask you to take me home and to meet the people your mother loved.”

“You have my word, Uncle, I will honour your wishes.”

“Then I am content.”

Agravaine’s eyes closed and his chest stilled.

“Touching.”

Arthur was on his feet, staring in disbelief at Morgana. She was breathing heavily and had a hand pressed to the point where Agravaine’s sword had entered her body. She should be dead.

Morgana smirked. “Oh, Arthur, I’m a priestess of the Old Religion. No ordinary blade can kill me.” She flung out her hand, in a parody of the move Dragoon – Merlin – had used.

Arthur saw the shock on her face when nothing happened, though it was only a fleeting moment, before she spun away and grabbed a sword from one of the nearby guards. His hand went automatically to his belt, but with a sinking heart he recalled that he’d dropped his sword when he believed Morgana had been killed.

In the same moment, Helios and his men took advantage of the distraction and broke away from the guards, grabbing swords where they could and beginning to fight their way towards Morgana.

_Take the sword from the stone._

It was a well-beloved voice.

 _It’s stuck in a damned stone,_ he thought and somehow wasn’t surprised when a laughing response came to him.

_I know. I put it there, you prat._

He wasn’t sure if it was wishful thinking, or if it had really happened, but he no longer hesitated, running for the centre of the courtyard. Arthur made it to the stone and reached out. The grip of the sword felt as if it had been tailored for him, it almost melded to him, steel to flesh, it called to him.

“Excalibur!” His voice was clear and seemed to bounce off the castle walls. He didn’t know where the name came from, but the syllables rolled smoothly from him, and he knew it for truth.

Everything stopped.

Everyone stared.

Silent, smooth, the sword slid free until it was held above Arthur’s head, catching the early morning sun and sparking as if about to catch afire.

For the first time, Morgana looked afraid. It was only the briefest moment, before her expression hardened and she raised the sword she carried.

“Even a sword pulled from a stone is still a mortal blade and can’t kill me, Arthur.” She mocked him, and then sliced through the air towards him.

He parried, their blades clashing. In the periphery of his vision, Arthur noticed that Morgana’s men had been disarmed and now everyone’s attention was on this fight. His own focus narrowed to the continuing battle and he counter-attacked, remembering her old weaknesses and testing them, just as she was doing with him. Every so often he caught a flash of gold in her eyes and realised she was trying to use magic against him. He wondered how it was being blocked, though he had a good idea who was responsible for it.

Their swords locked, bringing them close together.

“Give up, Morgana,” he urged, and he wondered if she could see the grief he carried that they’d come to this pass.

“Never.” She pushed him away and followed up with a thrust that would have skewered him through the belly had he not spun to the side, twisting out of the way before countering with an attack of his own.

“You can’t kill me, Arthur.” She was taunting him, trying to push him into losing his temper.

Arthur was no longer a callow youth; he knew now how to keep his temper and retain a cool head and he smiled at her even as he considered what options he had. Disarming her seemed the safest, especially if her magic was being contained.

This time the voice in his head was Kilgharrah’s.

_"I tempered Excalibur’s blade with my fire, King Arthur. It will kill the witch.”_

Deliberately, he brought them in close. “Listen to me, Morgana. This sword was made with magic – you have no protection against it. Please, Morgana, yield. This is your last chance.”

She met his eyes then, and he saw his sister, saw regret. “It’s too late, Arthur. Do what you have to do.”

They separated and Arthur the brother became Arthur the King. He could see her realisation of the transition and thought he would never forget the expression on her face in the moment she knew she was about to die. He caught her sword with his, twisted his wrist and it flew from her grasp. Arthur lunged forward, sword slicing cleanly through her and when he withdrew it he stepped in and caught her as she fell.

Her gaze settled on him for the briefest of moments and he thought perhaps he saw peace there at last, before the light in her eyes faded.

His last family member was dead.

Grief, relief, shame, so many emotions roiling through him. Around him people were cheering, but his closest friends were solemn and Gwen was openly weeping as he knelt and gently laid Morgana’s body on the cobbles of the courtyard.

They had all loved her once.

 

**

 

**Some months or perhaps years later**

Arthur stared down at the latest report Alator had provided, gleaned from the information of his followers and the Druids. Since the defeat of Morgana there had been a decline in the threats made to Camelot, at least from magic, though Alator’s intelligence now often contained other news that was as helpful in keeping Camelot safe.

Camelot.

Sighing, he pulled the missive he’d received from Caerleon, Bedivere, and Olaf. In it, they urged him to formally take the role as King of Albion. They maintained that they would each continue to rule their lands, but that laws and management of the kingdoms would gradually align either with Camelot, or whichever kingdom they decided had the most robust system in place. In all joint ventures, Arthur would lead, be it for negotiation, battle or peace.

Albion.

He glanced at Excalibur, the great sword perched, unsheathed on its stand. The cool blue light that seemed to fall on it however dark the night, comforted him, reminding him of another blue light that had once led him to safety. Drawing the sword from the stone had cemented his status in the eyes of the other kings and queens, and he smiled ruefully, because he knew that Merlin’s magic was the reason why, though when he’d tried to explain, no-one seemed particularly interested in listening. Gaius had chuckled when he’d told him.

“They need their king from prophecy, Arthur – it doesn’t matter how it happened – just that it did.”

Gaius.

There was a soft, characteristic tapping at his door and his concerns about the kingdom were swallowed by one much more basic. This was why he was sitting so late over the papers, even as exhaustion pulled him towards sleep.

He opened the door almost reluctantly and Gwen was there, as tired as he and her eyes red.

“It’s time,” she said.

They walked in silence towards Gaius’ room, but when they reached the door Gwen squeezed his arm, offered a shaky smile, and left him. Arthur stared after her for a moment before he entered.

Movement elsewhere in the room caught his attention and he almost turned to demand who was there until he drew in a breath. He swallowed hard and turned away from the sound to sit beside the bed and reach out to grip Gaius’ hand.

Gaius smiled, his eyes dim now but still he seemed able to see to the heart of Arthur.

“My boys,” he whispered.

“How are you, Gaius?”

“I’ll die tonight.”

There was a sound, distressed, from the dark corner and Arthur ignored it, pushing down his own grief. For the past year Gaius’ health and strength had been fading and Arthur couldn’t refute the obvious. He squeezed the fingers he held, careful not to press too hard.

“Thank you for everything, Gaius. You were more a father to me than Uther ever was.”

“You’ve made me so very proud, Arthur. You’ve become a strong, wise king, and an even better man.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you and Merlin.”

There was a long pause while only the sound of their breathing disturbed the quiet.

“Will he ever come home?” Arthur asked, but when he looked down, Gaius was dozing, his eyes closed and his hand lax in Arthur’s grip. For a moment, Arthur sat and watched over him, before leaning forward and pressing his lips to Gaius’ brow.

“Sleep well,” he whispered, the words for Gaius alone even if he would not hear them. “You have earned your rest. May the Gods welcome you with the honour you deserve.”

He paused at the door. “I won’t return tonight,” he promised, speaking past the lump in his throat. “Be easy.”

**

Despite his grief, Arthur’s exhaustion pulled him into sleep the moment his head hit the pillow, but even in the deepest sleep, a sense of familiarity woke him. The night was still dark and as it was summer there was no fire in the grate to provide any light.

Arthur didn’t need light.

As his eyes became accustomed to the different shades of dark, he recognised the reason for the uncomfortable weight on the covers by his feet. The hunched figure was still, apart from the way the breath heaved through him. Arthur’s throat closed, hating himself for the brief flare of pleasure that in his pain, Merlin had come to him for comfort.

For a moment he was unsure, not wanting to disturb Merlin in case it only sent him away, but he couldn’t ignore the distress.

“Come here,” he whispered, and was rewarded when, after a stuttering breath, the dark lump moved and the damp skin of Merlin’s cheek was suddenly pressed against his chest.

Arthur wrapped his arms around the shaking body, letting the outpouring of grief run its course, letting his own tears flow in response. Over time, he’d become more astute and practiced when dealing with emotion, and he left Merlin to this first sharp reaction to his loss. He smoothed his hands across Merlin’s strong back, tracing patterns that might have been words, spelling out all the things he couldn’t say aloud.

There was calm at last, and Arthur judged it time to speak.

“He was so proud of you. You were his son.”

His response was another hitching breath and Merlin pressing closer. It was followed by a sigh and Arthur almost felt the withdrawal. He tightened his hold, just a little.

“Stay,” he whispered. Please stay with me forever. “Sleep for a while.” Sleep with me.

The figure in his arms was tense.

“I promise, however much I want to, I won’t press you to stay for good. Just know, when you’re ready to come back to me, there will always be a welcome here.”

Arthur felt the hurt gnawing in the centre of him, the space where his heart should be, the heart that had been carried off with Kilgharrah those years before. To be so close was an agony, but this wasn’t about him. This was all about what Merlin needed, and right now that was comfort and time. Please the Gods, not too much more time.

Merlin relaxed against him, and Arthur felt more complete than he had since the day he slid a sword into Merlin’s body. Despite wanting to stay awake to savour the trust Merlin was placing in him, he knew sleep was pulling him under again.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” he managed as his eyes closed, and the last thing he was aware of was a warm hand clasping his and holding tight.

**

There was a moment when Arthur woke that he believed it had all been a dream, until he turned his head and in the indentation on the pillow next to him was a small wooden dragon.

A promise.

**

**Not very long after**

 

George. George, the most utterly correct manservant in the history of Camelot’s manservants, tumbled in through the door and shoved himself between the two noble lords who had brought their dispute before the King.

Arthur’s eyes rose in complete astonishment as George tripped, squawked and, arms flailing, fell at Arthur’s feet.

“George? What in the name of the Gods –“

“Sire, oh Sire, you have a visitor.”

George waved a hand around and one of the lords standing by grabbed it and used it to haul George to his feet.

“Calm yourself down, lad, and tell the King what’s the meaning of this.”

Arthur glanced at him. Lord Ector was a relative newcomer to the court, because, as he’d informed Arthur bluntly, he preferred his beloved wife to remain safe. He hadn’t needed to say anything else, but Arthur had been part of the admiring crowd who’d watched the Lady Elaine entertain the castle children in the midst of a violent storm. She’d conjured multi-coloured insects, butterflies, dragonflies, crickets and more, sending the children chasing after them and every one they caught turned into a coloured glass bead. Lord Ector had come to stand by a laughing Arthur, his own face beaming in pride. He’d clapped Arthur familiarly on the shoulder and nodded in approval. Ector was a straightforward man, and Arthur had already decided he wanted him in his inner council.

He spared a nod for him now, and turned his attention to George, who had taken Arthur’s moment of abstraction to collect himself, and to regain his feet at least, though his legendary dignity was still distinctly lacking.

“Now, George,” he asked. “What’s amiss?”

“Nothing amiss, Sire, nothing at all.” George beamed at him in a frankly disturbing manner. “You have a visitor, Sire.”

“Where is this visitor?”

“In your chambers, Sire.”

Arthur stared at George. Camelot was at peace but still, one didn’t just walk into the King’s private chambers… unless…

“In my – “ The sudden surge of hope almost suffocated him.

George was grinning ear to ear.

Glancing round the hall, Arthur saw Gwen. Her hands were pressed to her mouth and her eyes were bright. Leon was standing by her side, his arm curved protectively around her shoulders and he was glad at the sight, even if he couldn’t give it the attention it deserved at the moment.

He met Gwaine’s eyes next and saw something there that sent a surge of regret through him.

Gwaine’s mouth lifted in acknowledgment before he said, “Well, Your Majesty, it’s not polite to keep a guest waiting.”

Lord Ector, who had clearly heard all the gossip, chipped in and his tone was avuncular. “Off you go, lad. This will keep, won’t it, Talbot?”

Lord Talbot had no real option but to agree and even before he finished nodding, Arthur was off his throne and through the door, George scampering in his wake.

Despite his less than dignified rush along the corridors, when he reached the doors to his rooms, he hesitated. George arrived, panting, at his back as Arthur started at the wood, wishing he could see into the room beyond without having to enter. Just to see him first, just to get used to the fact of his presence.

“In you go, Sire,” George’s voice was encouraging. “You’ve waited long enough.”

Arthur looked at him and really saw him for once, recognising the loyalty and the care.

“Thank you for looking after me, George,” he said, and smiled at the way George’s eyebrows shot up and then the smile that followed.

“It’s my honour, Sire,” he said, and then with his more usual brisk tone, he repeated. “In you go.”

Arthur drew in a deep breath, turned the handle, and entered quietly.

For a moment he could see no-one, and a crushing disappointment took his breath, until there was movement at the fireplace and a tall cloaked figure pushed himself up from the chair.

Stepping forward, Arthur reached out a hand.

“You’re here,” he whispered.

Merlin had broadened out, his shoulders muscular under the light shirt he was wearing. The neckerchief was gone and Arthur swallowed at the play of light and shadow on Merlin’s neck, white on his Adam’s apple and dipping into shadow at the hollow. There was the slightest hint of a beard and his hair was longer covering his ears. He was a man now, no longer the youth Arthur had first bossed and bullied before becoming reliant on his help and friendship.

There was a long silence, only punctuated by their breathing.

Eventually Merlin spoke, his voice low and husky. “You said I would be welcome.”

Arthur swallowed. “You are,” he found his voice. “You know you are.” He closed the distance between them, and the overwhelming sense of relief he experienced when Merlin opened his arms and drew him in was almost enough to break him. He breathed in deeply, pushing his face into Merlin’s neck, feeling the pulse beat in a wild match to his own, and Merlin’s scent was all around him. Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin and held on for all he was worth, startling a short laugh from Merlin before the hold was reciprocated.

“I’m here, Arthur, and if you want me to stay then I’ll stay with you.”

It was some time before Arthur could speak. “Don’t ever leave me again.”

And even more time passed before he said, “I’m sorry.”

“I know. I’m sorry, too.”

Arthur leaned back and studied Merlin, meeting his eyes for the first time. Merlin grinned at him.

“You always knew when I was close by.”

He said it as if it was something that had been on his mind for some time and Arthur returned the smile, leaning in and inhaling Merlin’s scent again; a spark in the air, like a storm coming, like rain on the wind. Merlin’s magic. Merlin.

“Welcome home,” he said.

Merlin kissed him.

 

Fin


End file.
